Prove It
by VampirePaladin
Summary: America says she thinks of Belarus as her equal. Belarus believes that this is impossible. She wants proof.


Belarus was curled up against America, her head barely peeking out from under the covers. America wrapped her arms around the other girl. Belarus wiggled away from her. America tried to pull her closer. Again, Belarus wiggled away. The battle continued on, the way it always did. It ended just like it always did with Belarus and America in the exact same positions as when they started.

The abrasive sound of a cell phone rang out. America sat up in bed, letting the blanket fall down from her bare torso. She picked up her phone and turned off the offending alarm.

"I have to get going. I'll leave the spare key for you so you can leave whenever you want to, 'kay?"

"Fine," Belarus said without bothering to lift her head out from under the covers.

America was already heading out the bedroom door and to her bathroom. Belarus could hear the unmistakable hum of water going through pipes when the shower was turned on. She relaxed the muscles she had not realized were tensed.

Belarus finally emerged from the shielding embrace of the blankets. America was not really any different from her past relationships, other than being a girl. Oh yes, America claimed she saw Belarus as an equal, but those were just pretty words. America had states that were bigger than Belarus, and that was before you subtracted the land still uninhabitable from Chernobyl. She had lived with Ukraine, Lithuania, Poland and Russia and every one of them had been firmly in control. Oh yes, the amount of freedom had varied under each and sometimes even varied from year to year, but never had she been the one dictating the terms of relationships. Even now that she lived on her own she did not dictate the terms of any of her international relationships.

She glanced at the clothing she had hurriedly discarded the night before. Belarus got out of bed and fished for her knife from the folds of the light blue dress.

America emerged from the bathroom, a white towel wrapped tightly around her and blonde hair plastered to her skin. Belarus was waiting for her.

"You shoulda knocked, Belarus. I wouldn't have taken so long if I knew you were waiting."

"I was not waiting for the bathroom. America, do you view me as your equal?"

"Course I do."

"That is impossible. You have more money, land, people and resources. In every meaningful way you can overpower me."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I think any less of you."

"Prove it," Belarus said. Her eyes were locked on America's.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"Prove that you mean what you say."

America looked at the other nation. Her gaze drifted down to the knife Belarus held tightly in one hand. Slowly, America nodded her head up and down.

Belarus brought her hand up, putting the edge of the knife against America's flesh, right between her breasts. "Do you mean what you say?"

"Yes," America let the fluffy towel fall.

Belarus slashed downward with the knife. It was not deep enough to cause any serious injury. She brought her knife up again, retracing the same path and widening the injury. The next one perpendicular to the first forming a cross. Belarus slashed again and again, never deep enough to cause serious harm.

Blood was running down America's torso. Her eyes were screwed shut against the pain. She did not scream. The loving touch of the knife came slower and slower, and then it stopped. America opened one eye. She saw Belarus standing there, her shoulders trembling. America opened her other eye.

This time when America put her arms around Belarus to pull her close there was no resistance. Belarus hugged America back tightly, the blood staining both their skin. The knife, red with blood, fell from the equally bloody hand and to the wooden floor.

"Hey, Belarus?"

"What is it?" somehow Belarus managed to sound annoyed and gentle at the same time.

"I do kinda still need to get to work before the nation meeting today."

Belarus roughly pushed America into the bathroom, forcing her onto edge of the bathtub. With the practiced ease that most of them had from centuries of war, Belarus began to clean and wrap America's wounds. Even though she had an expression of blank unamusement, her touch was considerate and as light as a feather.

"Well, it looks like I won't be baring my midriff for a while," America said, wincing at the end.

"Good, I don't like you in those."

"Now you sound like England!"

"England has a point when it comes to your wardrobe."

America rose from her seat and headed into the bedroom to get changed into a clean pair of clothing. She could hear the water running in the bathroom. Belarus must be finishing cleaning the blood from herself. America was not going to bother Belarus as she finished changing, did her hair, make-up and found her car keys that she had misplaced again.

When America was about to step out the front door she was stopped by a hand grasping hers. America stopped and awkwardly turned to face Belarus.

"Thank you."


End file.
